


Magnetic Electric

by Loz



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Outdoor Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 13:34:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loz/pseuds/Loz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A snatched moment in an out of the way alley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magnetic Electric

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Basaltgrrl's amazing [take it off right here!](http://lifein1973.livejournal.com/2459199.html). This was going to be commentfic for Basaltgrrl, but exceeded the character limit, so I decided to post it here. The title's from a Kylie Minogue b-side, because I wrote a line and then remembered it probably came from the song. (Also because incongruous music + LoM = Loz OTP. Or it would be if the perfection of Sam/Gene didn't exist.)

This is the thing that people don't realise about 'Whiter than White', 'Rules and Regulations', 'Pernickety Prickly-Arse' Tyler: he only follows orders if he thinks there's some merit to them. 

He doesn't do as he's told, whenever he's told, however he's told, without any thought. The little shit thinks about _everything_ ; all the complications, the ill-advised consequences, the suspect motives. Oh, sometimes he'll dismiss them, sure, but he has to be damn positive it's his choice. 

So when they're like this, when he's letting Gene dictate his actions, he's not truly being submissive. Never is, Sam Tyler. Wouldn't be him if he were. No, Sam's making a declaration with each creep of his hem, with every sinful touch against his pale skin, the wide sprawl of his legs. When Gene softly says, "slow it down," Sam slows it down, but he smirks. That's what he wanted. 

Sam undresses, but the truly naked one is Gene. And for all his exhibitionist streak, being here with Sam makes him feel raw; pride flayed and sense thrashed.

Gene stands back against the brick wall. Stupid and reckless and dangerous, this whole thing, especially _this place_ , but he must be mesmerised by too-tight red jeans, hypnotised by thin white cloth. He wants to see them on the dirtied, corrupt streets of Manchester. 

Sam's got a solid torso. Not sculpted, but not reedy. His arms show some of his strength, maybe not even an eighth, though, when it really comes down to it. His legs are long and feel tight around Gene's waist, whenever he's foolish enough to step close. In physical terms, Sam's more than appealing. He's every tired cliché; magnetic, electric, explosive.

But it's his expressions that really do Gene in. The sheer confidence and bite shown in his lazy-lidded gaze. The sensual curve of his lower lip. The tightness of his sucked in cheeks. How he knows, when Gene murmurs, "Touch yourself. No. Over the denim," just why he's so rough-voiced. 

"Like this?" Sam asks, sliding his hand over his thigh, but he's not really asking, just as he’s not really trying. It's an invitation, plain and simple. Gene walks towards his thrall. 

"Lemme show you."

He grasps Sam's wrist --- sturdy while deceptively bird-like --- rubs his thumb up his palm, splays his fingers, entangles them together. Then he lets go and drags Sam's hand down to the noticeable bulge in his trousers. He presses the heel of Sam's hand down and watches as his mouth opens on a sigh. He's still buttoned up. Constrained. Gene loosens his fly, watching Sam's cheeks continue to flush. 

"Keep going," he orders. Begs.

"Always thought you were a man of action, Guv?"

"Best thing about being the Guv is being able to delegate, isn't that what you always say?"

Sam throws his head back in a full bodied laugh. It's rare that he's so genuinely carefree, filled with happiness. His throat is a long, attractive column, his mouth wide open, his eyelashes smudges against his cheeks. Gene aches at the thought that he only gets to see this on very special occasions. 

He captures Sam's laughter with a kiss. Can't help himself. Smooths his hand over his abdomen, pulling up his undershirt further to tweak his right nipple. When Sam bucks up into him with one sinuous roll, he's firm and unyielding, but when Sam slides his arse closer to the edge of the bonnet and tilts back, he finds himself attacking his throat with a carelessly placed suck. The mark will show, won't be entirely concealed beneath his collar. Deliberate. Exacting. Calculated. 

"Wanna take this further?" Sam asks, and Gene's happy to hear him sound breathless. 

Gene can see the head of his cock pushing out the top of his waistband, red and wet. He wants to watch him come, wants to swallow him down, get him to rut mindlessly. Never is fully mindless, but he's close, sometimes.

"Don't know how that's possible," Gene replies. 

They'll both know he's not talking about this single instance, this one opportunity. He sucks in Sam's lower lip again, strokes his tongue in deep. Sam rolls with it, moans when Gene wraps his hand around him. He was going to direct Sam's own hand to stroke him off, but he refuses to give him all the satisfaction. 

Sam's hot and thick against his palm, already slick with precome. He's considered in how he works him over, in each lingering touch. Not considerate, though. He thumbs up the underside of Sam's cock teasingly, strokes a finger against his slit.

"Faster," Sam says when they break for a breath. Gene can never remember to breathe through his nose when he and Sam are like this, always forgets basic biology. 

"No."

"C'mon, Gene."

"You'll come when I want you to. No sooner."

"Bastard."

"You'd know."

Sam chuckles again, pulls Gene's hair. "You didn't just 'takes one to know one' me, did you? That's pathetic."

"So says the man who's halfway to liquid over a simple glide of my hand."

"Nothing simple about your hands."

“Too kind. Don’t think it’ll stop me from being cruel.”

Eventually, Gene has to speed up. Sam’s pushing up into him so hard, he looks like he’ll strain something and the light’s growing dim. There’s no joy in it if he can’t see Sam fall apart. That’s a lie. There’s some joy, undeniably, but it’s not ideal. He’s still tempted to crash to his knees for the final minute. To swallow Sam down and devour him whole. But his timing’s shot and Sam’s strung taut before he can move, ankle curling around his calf and fingers digging deep into his neck. Sam spills between them, shuddering. 

Gene watches, rapt, as his stomach tightens, his eyes scrunch shut. Sam’s depressingly silent when he comes, no throaty moan or wailing keen. He trembles and he tenses and he clutches, but he doesn’t call out. One day, Gene thinks, he’ll get Sam to go loose. Get him boneless and free. Get the heat in him to ratchet up so high he really will go molten. He’s nearer to his goal every day, with one well-timed order, one measured glance.

They’re a mess. Sam’s come is everywhere. They’re sweaty and dishevelled and one of them’s half naked where anyone could hazard an approach. But there’s no awkwardness when Gene helps Sam tuck himself in. No furtive looks or downturned grimaces. Sam doesn’t hesitate in letting Gene pull him off the Cortina, hands cupping his arse. He cranes into his body and holds him close, for a moment, more.

And this is the thing that people don't realise about 'Whiter than White', 'Rules and Regulations', 'Pernickety Prickly-Arse' Tyler: he can be black as sin, will break all the rules, transforms until he’s relaxed and soft, if he thinks there's some merit to the person he’s with. He doesn't do as he's told without any thought, but it’s obvious he thinks Gene’s worth the complications, the consequences, and the shaky motives. 

“Drive me home,” Sam demands and Gene, God-help-him, submits.


End file.
